It Was For Him That Her Red Light Shone

I'm going to read some pieces of Ezekiel 16. Don't follow along in your Bible, because I'm not going to announce when and where I'm skipping. I'll read enough for you to get the gist story, but be warned: it is a little vulgar and it doesn't value women. Listen to the story.

Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, "Son of man, make known to Jerusalem her abominations. ...

You were naked and bare. ... I passed by you and saw you, and behold, [fn] you were at the time for love; so I spread My skirt over you and covered your nakedness. I also swore to you and entered into a covenant with you so that you became Mine," declares the Lord GOD. Then I bathed you with water, washed off your blood from you and anointed you with oil. I also clothed you with embroidered cloth and put sandals of porpoise skin on your feet; and I wrapped you with fine linen and covered you with silk. I adorned you with ornaments, put bracelets on your hands and a necklace around your neck. I also put a ring in your nostril, earrings in your ears and a beautiful crown on your head. Thus you were adorned with gold and silver, and your dress was of fine linen, silk and embroidered cloth. You ate fine flour, honey and oil; so you were exceedingly beautiful and advanced to royalty. Then your fame went forth among the nations on account of your beauty, for it was perfect because of My splendor which I bestowed on you," declares the Lord GOD. But you trusted in your beauty and played the harlot because of your fame, and you poured out your harlotries on every passer-by who might be willing. ...

Then it came about after all your wickedness ('Woe, woe to you!' declares the Lord GOD), that you built yourself a shrine and made yourself a high place in every square. You built yourself a high place at the top of every street and made your beauty abominable, and you spread your legs to every passer-by to multiply your harlotry. ...

How languishing is your heart," declares the Lord GOD, "while you do all these things, the actions of a bold-faced harlot. When you built your shrine at the beginning of every street and made your high place in every square, in disdaining money, you were not like a harlot. You adulteress wife, who takes strangers instead of her husband! Men give gifts to all harlots, but you give your gifts to all your lovers to bribe them to come to you from every direction for your harlotries. Thus you are different from those women in your harlotries, in that no one plays the harlot [fn] as you do, because you give money and no money is given you; thus you are different." Therefore, O harlot, hear the word of the LORD.

You just heard an extended metaphor that surprises its hearers with its vulgarity. Because of the shock, the hearers recognize how heinous their sins are.

I want to tell you another story, a story inspired by this one and in a similar vein. This story is also vulgar, mimicking Ezekiel's style to emphasize some of our heinous sins, at least, I know it reflects some of my heinous sins. I also play around with gender. Whereas the Bible might devalue women by portraying polygamy, I will portray polygamy and polyandry, which is the practice of having multiple male partners. In Ezekiel, the God character is seen sexually accosting a young, naked girl. In my story, the God character does some equally odd things, but only to portray God's radical character, not to portray God as a person of vice.

Listen for the metaphor. Listen for the surprises. Disagree or agree with any messages you might find. Accept the story not as perfect, but as the result of a young man wrestling with God and the church. After I tell the story, I'm going to ask you to wrestle with or against me. I hope we can debrief and talk as a group after the story. Be prepared to interact. Listen not just to fill out the evaluation, but to interact with the text and communally create meaning.

To recap, part of this sermon, is talking about the story.

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A young man was backpacking in the mountains. He was enraptured by the beauty of the trees and the songs of the birds. He meandered along the path, his mind wandering as much as his feet.

Then he saw a most unexpected thing: a young, naked woman. She stood there, unashamed, as if she had been left in the woods naked for a long time. She stood still, off the beaten path, shivering with cold, and red from sunburn.

He took any extra clothes he had and put them over her. She jumped when she felt his hands through the coat he wrapped around her shoulders. It was awkward clothing her, trying not to touch her inappropriately. She offered little help, as if she longed for his touch.

He looked deep into her eyes, captured by them for what seemed like an eternity, for in her eyes, he saw eternity, although she looked no older than 21. Her eyes communicated fear, as if she had not seen or interacted with a human in a long time. And her eyes spoke trust and love, too, knowing, somehow, that she would be his, for she knew he loved her when he clothed her and laid out food for her.

With the food out, he took her hands inside his with intent to lead her to the food. He began to ask for her name when the jacket over her shoulders came undone, showing again her breasts. He paused and went to close the jacket once more, but as he gazed once again into her fearful, loving, eternal eyes, his hands instead went inside the jacket. He gracefully caressed her bosom as her arms wrapped around his body. They embraced. He warmed her body with his and they became one in the woods, proclaiming their love in the marriage act in front of creation. Like David and Jonathan, they swore their love unto to each other and entered into a covenant. And so the man became the woman's and the woman became the man's (Ez. 16:8), each of them the other's beloved.

When finished, she ate and he led her down the mountain. He bathed her and soothed her burns by rubbing them with ointment, by rubbing her with ointment. He put perfume on her and adorned her with the most beautiful jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, rings on her hands, rings in her ears, and a ring in her nose. He combed her hair and paid for a manicure, a pedicure--a full makeover.

She was beautiful from the start and he wonderfully complemented that beauty with things made by hand. He wrote stories about her, he wrote psalms about her, he wrote wise sayings and attributed the wisdom to her, for it was she who inspired everything he wrote, she who out of her very being breathed the words into his heart. He sang to her. He worshipped the very ground she walked on.

Because she lived some of her life as the least of peoples, the two never forgot to bless the unfortunate. Together, they blessed the world, preaching good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to those who desired it, freedom to the oppressed, and jubilee to all. In their blessing each other, they became a blessing to the world, serving all others in their public lives and servicing each other in private.

He bought her a car and he carried her wherever she thought they should go. When arriving at a destination, they relied heavily on the kindness of strangers and friends. They weren't quite homeless, but, unlike birds and foxes, they had no place to rest their heads, no place to call their own, except their love for each other and their love for the world.

One day he decided she should have a home, a sort of sanctuary erected in her honor. She was touched by his desire to set aside a sacred space for her, but she could not be bound by four walls. So he built her another home, this one a summer home by the beach. And then another for weekends in the mountains. A fall home in New England. A condo in the Bahamas. A homeless shelter in the Bronx. A hut in Africa. The list went on and on. Nothing was too good or too wild for his love.

After a while, many of the homes began to look similar: brick on the outside, painted windows, and white on the inside. Even when the two weren't present, he hired people to officiate ceremonies in honor of his love. The people would sing the songs he wrote about her, read the letters he wrote to her, and learn from the wisdom she inspired. They all desired a lover like her.

Somewhere in the building of these houses and the pomp and circumstance surrounding the house parties, the woman left the man. Her beauty was lost amidst the accoutrements and the pillars and spires that reached towards heaven. The man forgot her when he wasn't in her house and he was promiscuous in his own home, having frequent banquets and orgies of the most detestable sorts. When alone, he either brooded over his disdain for others or sang his own praises in a masturbatory fashion.

He used to love and serve her and others all day, every day, exploring all senses of those words. Then he would visit her daily, before slowing down to a few times a week with daily calls. He blessed himself more than he blessed others, sometimes blessing himself at the expense of others. He no longer wrote her love letters or Psalms. He presumed his earlier texts were enough and he re-read and studied them, as if they could take the place of his love and service.

When she left, he never noticed. He still visited her house, praising her name and studying their past love, but every trace of love left his heart long before the appearance of love became habit.

As much as he did or did not think about her, as much as he did or did not worship her, as much as he did or did not speak to her, she wasn't there. He grew accustom to her face and when it was gone, he imagined it was there. He remembered the ecstasy in his spirit and convinced his subconscious to duplicate the emotion in a way he could neither understand nor explain. It was indescribable to him. It was real to him, if only a façade. He felt this fakeness more than he understood it. Amidst this rote pretense of orgasmic love, he traveled from lover to lover. Prideful and ignorant, he searched for what he could not name: the unspeakable name of his beloved.

He didn't even know she was gone.

She left lost and confused. She was a strong woman, having spent much of her life on her own. But she had been with him for so long and she loved him so much. She didn't know what to do without him. Hurt that he didn't even know she was gone, she bounced from relationship to relationship, never selling herself short and always remembering him.

She began to travel in less-than-reputable circles. She began to sell herself and then, worse, she began to pay people to take her. Her legs opened to anyone. If they would love her, then she would enter into relationship with them and bless them and make them a blessing to others. As she again became the least of people, she still lived to bless people and turn them into blessings. And she did so, over and over, with men and women. When one became faithful to only her, she still turned for others, never filling the void left by him, but always trying. The hurt she experienced with him happened over and over again as different people built different houses, many of them claiming to be her sole lover. But so many of them she left, because they ceased to loved her. Those who stayed became monogamous and accepting of her polyandry, of her freely giving blessings of love, of her many covenants with many people.

And she truly loved these other men and women, in every sense of the word. She learned she was full of love for everyone who would love her, never running out of love to give to them, love to give to everyone, as if her body were broken and her blood spilt for many, but miraculously multiplying to satisfy the appetites of anyone who would take their fill.

She became her own woman, a woman the first man only once knew, but had since forgotten.

One day their paths crossed again, serendipitously, providentially. He had turned to depression and making love, but never giving or receiving love. He stumbled towards her on the street one night in the same way he stumbled to any promiscuous man or woman. He became callous to loving, having no expectations to find what he was looking for in her.

He didn't recognize her, for she was beautiful in a way he could never have imagined, a beauty beyond what he and his preconceived notions could understand, a beauty found in prostitutes, drug dealers, the socially awkward, the differently abled, the sinners of every shape and kind--a beauty found in people he continually refused to love.

She refused to take the money he offered her. She smiled and, as she did so often, she tried to explain it was not he who found her, but she who found him, she who lost him, but had been looking for him in the love-making of every man and woman since he became lost. She who stood on the street corner calling for love, for his love (Prov. 8). It was for him that her red light shone.

He stood, dazed. He didn't know she was, who had left, or that he or she was ever lost. He thought he had come to her. How could she have been looking for him? He didn't know what was going on. At least, not until she began to love him once again.

When he felt her touch, he remembered. When he tasted her lips once again, he knew. When his hands caressed her breasts and her hands swept up his thigh, he once again was lost and found in his lust for this one woman.

He cried after they made love and she wiped away his tears with her hair, washing him with the aroma of love and forgiveness. She loved him though he had forgotten her. Without even knowing he lost her, he found her once again. Their old covenant was remembered and renewed alongside another, new covenant. He accepted her multiple lovers and he repented of his matrimonial sins, becoming monogamous, loving only her, entering into community with her lovers, people with whom he never thought she could make covenants, people he never thought he or she could enjoy. He received them as his brothers and sisters and was ashamed of his sins, ashamed that he could not receive them in community as equal lovers of his beloved.

She once again became his God and he once again became part of her people. They work together for their love and for their love of others. He worships the ground she walks on, recognizing her beauty wherever he sees it, be it in one of her houses, in the rain, in sorrow, in joy, or reflected in the eyes of one of her lovers, in the eyes of any and every other human being.

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I just shared a pretty extreme, extended metaphor. What do you think? What can you hear from a story of harlotry, if anything? What can you glean from God playing the harlot? From God having multiple sexual partners, both male and female? In Ezekiel's story, Israel trusts in the beauty God gave her, while in our story, the church trusts in the beauty he gives God;i n one situation, Israel leaves God, whereas in the other the God leaves the church--which scenario do you fear most in your life? in the life of your church?

Behold, everyone who quotes proverbs will quote this proverb concerning you, saying, 'Like mother, like daughter.' You are the daughter of your mother, who loathed her husband and children. You are also the sister of your sisters, who loathed their husbands and children. Your mother was a Hittite and your father an Amorite. Now your older sister is Samaria, who lives north of you with her daughters; and your younger sister, who lives south of you, is Sodom with her daughters. Yet you have not merely walked in their ways or done according to their abominations; but, as if that were too little, you acted more corruptly in all your conduct than they. ...

Nevertheless, I will restore their captivity, the captivity of Sodom and her daughters, the captivity of Samaria and her daughters, and along with them your own captivity, in order that you may bear your humiliation and feel ashamed for all that you have done when you become a consolation to them. Your sisters, Sodom with her daughters and Samaria with her daughters, will return to their former state, and you with your daughters will also return to your former state. ...

You have borne the penalty of your lewdness and abominations," the LORD declares. For thus says the Lord GOD, "I will also do with you as you have done, you who have despised the oath by breaking the covenant. Nevertheless, I will remember My covenant with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish an everlasting covenant with you. Then you will remember your ways and be ashamed when you receive your sisters, both your older and your younger; and I will give them to you as daughters, but not because of your covenant. Thus I will establish My covenant with you, and you shall know that I am the LORD, so that you may remember and be ashamed and never open your mouth anymore because of your humiliation, when I have forgiven you for all that you have done," the Lord GOD declares.

My New Tattoo: Multiply My Eucharist

I have a tattoo on my chest. It is a drawing of a fourth-century mosaic floor from a church in Tabgha, Israel commemorating the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. To me, it is a reminder about the significance of those miracle stories. To me, it doesn’t matter so much whether the food was miraculously multiplied or if the people were moved to share their food (by God, Jesus, and/or the Spirit) when they saw one person sharing their food. Either interpretation is meaningful and reflects God’s mighty power and love.

My tattoo reminds me the story means even more. Because the image is on my body, I remember Jesus’ use of bread as an image. Jesus’ body was broken for many, but is never used up. Even after everyone shares eucharistically in Jesus, there will still be more Jesus left over. As I share in Jesus’ body and enter into the divine relationship, I, too, share myself with others. I give a part of me to every person I meet. When that person is no longer in my life, a part of me is lost. The longer I know someone, the more of me they might get. If I ever marry, then I will still have enough leftover to give all of me to that person and continue to give in more relationships, and this whole time still be all God’s. No matter how much I give away, God provides more. And, I hope, as people look at me and how I give of myself, they will be prompted to do likewise, becoming the body and blood of Jesus, multiplying themselves in order to bless others.

If Jesus Died to Pay for Sin, Where Does Forgiveness Fit In?

In conversation the other day, I asked a friend, "If Jesus died to pay for our sins, then where does forgiveness fit in?"

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If God required something, then it isn't forgiveness.

Forgiveness requires nothing.

No payment.

The forgiveness of sins cannot require blood and still be forgiveness.

Can it?

Parts of the Bible seem to think so.

But not all.

I don't think.

What do you think?

A Hypothetical Thanks to the CSO Scholarships

Tonight I was asked to speak at the next CSO banquet. I wasn't really told the nature of what I was supposed to say, probably something about how thankful I am for the scholarship donors. You know, something to make them want to continue giving money and, even better, to give more money. I declined the invitation, because I will be out of town to attend a conference.

At first, I joyfully declined, because I tend to avoid those banquets like the plague. If someone is doing something good with their money, why do we have to spend even more money on some fancy-schmancy banquet? It seems counterintuitive to me, to be extravagant with money in celebration of those who are giving their money, to encourage luxury instead of frugality for the kingdom's sake, for peoples' sake, and for God's sake. After reflecting on the CSO, I regretted my inability to speak. I day dreamed about what I might say if I could speak about anything in front of the CSO ...

Thanks Pedro, for seeking me out for this opportunity. I am so excited to thank the donors here for their support. Sure, most of you do not know who I am. In fact, I am going to venture none of you know who I am. Maybe you know my name from the program, but until a few seconds ago, you couldn't even match the name with the face. Some of you might not want to match my face with my name in the program, since I have a piece of metal sticking in my eyebrow and a few pieces of wood in my ear. You have really taken a step of faith in donating to the CSO, putting faith that your financial generosity will help people do God's work, even if you do not agree with everything that goes on.

Nobody will ever agree with everything, but you believe in the idea of a "Christian Service Organization." You believe your money is going to something organized, not just a group of people who handle your money willy-nilly. You believe this organization promotes Christian service, or Christians and service, or Christians who serve, or Christians being served. Really, language is a bit ambiguous and I, for one, am not sure what this organization is all about, except that it is one of the financial reasons I am getting a seminary education.

To what does "Christian" apply in CSO? It isn't the service, because I am not really required to serve any one. I suppose the organization expects me to "serve" at a church. And the church will have church services. And church services serve Christians. But I don't think the CSO gives money to Christians who will, in turn, serve the Christians who gave the money in the first place. If so, the CSO wouldn't be terribly Christian and the donors wouldn't require much faith, at least, no more faith than it takes to go to a restaurant and pay your server to serve you food.

I don't think the "Christian" applies to the donors, either. I suppose most of you are Christians. Perhaps all of you are. But, the CSO likely has no application process to judge the Christianity of anyone with open wallet. What organization does?

"Christian" cannot modify the organization, either. The word "Christian" doesn't make a good adjective for non-humans. Only humans can make the choice to follow Christ.

So, I suppose the word "Christian" must refer to the recipients, the recipients who have some hazy connection to a service organization. The Christians are served by the organization and the donors, thankfully receiving funds to help them achieve an education, something for which everyone should have access. How sad it is to know that education is only available to those who can find ways to afford it. I am especially saddened to know how much biblical and theological education costs. We as Christians have cut off access to so many parts of the Bible by asking for so much money for classes and books. It is disgusting, really. Instead of turning God's house into a den of robbers, we have taken a book of God's words and turned them into a source for profits.

The "S" of CSO must refer to serving the cleansing of God's words like Jesus cleansed the temple. I truly think the CSO is a great start to making education, especially biblical and theological education available to so many. But the CSO has a ways to go. Sure, it is doing a great thing, but the organization also seems to support luxury. Think about the food you ate, the table cloths, the dress code. Just because a students receives CSO money does not mean they can afford nice clothes. Just because a student receives CSO money does not mean they won't think about the people around the world who could benefit from just one half of what I ate here tonight.

Look at me. I'm about as privileged as it gets as a white male. I wouldn't be at Gardner-Webb without the CSO and other generous donors. But as the CSO reminds us, this organization is about Christians and service. I am very thankful to all of you donors, but I hope we can all give a little more thought to the CSO, what it means, what it could mean, and, most importantly, what it can become in our lives as we not only are affiliated with the CSO, but also with a CS-movement.

Roots, Memories, and Jason Mraz: One Interpretation of a Dream

I dreamt last night I was in my car, at an intersection in Shelby. It was as if I was leaving Boiling Springs, based on the direction I was driving. I was on my way to see Jason Mraz in concert. In real life, I know very little about Jason Mraz. He sings one song I recognize and enjoy. They also made fun of him on Family Guy the other night, saying he was just some guy in a hat.

I got out of my car, for some reason, even though I was in the middle of the road. Somehow I was now on the road going West, towards the concert. I got on some sort of sled-like contraption and went down the road, with my friends Dave and Dennis somehow coming along. Dave and Dennis are my two closest friends who live near me. Like friends do, I have invested a large part of me in them. I also have been thinking lately how location factors into altering friendships and how some friendships become memories and others continue. I was almost dragging my friends behind me, as if they were memories coming with me, not people.

The road stopped and we proceeded and descended, trying to get close to our destination at the Jason Mraz concert. My subconscious stole this image of the road coming from underneath us, it is a central image in a book I am reading by Joyce Carol Oates (Black Water).

The road ending, but I still continued. The path was gone, but I was still aiming for the prize. The destination was in mind, but the way uncharted and untraversed.

We didn't make our destination. We tried to grab onto trees. There were lots of tree, surely influenced by my watching of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers last night. I love trees and the Ents are just superb in that movie. In the movie, the forests were said to contain a lot of memory and a lot of history. I tried to grasp at them, but kept missing.

We fell towards water, a river I believe. We managed to grasp roots and I helped Dave and Dennis get to safety. Did I care for them at my own expense or did I care for the memory of past friendships at my own expense? Is the latter healthy? My friends were going to help me, but I woke up before I could leave the roots and climb to safety. I was left in limbo, grasping at the roots of growing memories inside me. Perhaps the Trevar in the dream wanted to climb to safety with his friends, but the subconscious Trevar wasn't ready to move on, wasn't ready to leave the memories, even if meant his last moments of strength were spent grasping onto the bottom of what has grown into a beautiful part of him.

Struggling with memories, a pretty common struggle, I presume. At the Jabbok, Jacob struggled with the memories of his brother. In the garden and on the cross, Jesus struggled with memories of God, salvation, God's people, and self. It is easy to hold onto the roots, forgetting that the roots support and give life to the changing beauty above the ground.

Four Dreams, One Night

I woke up three times this morning. The first time I remembered the first two dreams, although I am not sure which dream came first. Then I went back to sleep only to wake up and remember the next dream, which I fell asleep contemplating. When I woke up for the rest of the day, I remembered the fourth dream. I haven't had time to do much thinking about them, but here they are.

1. Walking around a house w/guide, trying to see a person or just see people in general. It was a house where rough, street people went. At another point, trying to get a guy to take me to this house. I'm with a little girl in the busy street-house and we lose our guide. We get scared. Finally Dennis shows up with our guide, a japanese man. They came from a part of the house i dares not venture alone. ... Outside a house/cafe during a storm. A hurricane is coming, I learn. I take a little girl inside and the mother comes. We try to get away from the windows. We find a windowless room, although there is a painting or something on the wall I thought was a window. The house is swept up, as in a tornado. It is an old house.

2. I am at the Friendship Lobster Co-op's wharf. I am alone. Then later I am there with Dave and his friend Kyle. I hear them talk about wanting to do something & I tell them to do it, because I don't need all their time. The tide is wicked high. I want a soda. I go to my dad's truck up the hill for money & find a dollar. I choose to use the coke machine that is part slot/video game. After the slots (which I didn't understand) the video games is two cheerleaders shooting water through hoses at birds. A girl shows up and tries to play the game with me. I get a coke, but wanted diet. Dave & Kyle eventually come out of the house on the wharf.

3. I helped Nana move into a house (the outside looked like the house across from my parents). I remember putting stuff in cupboards. I said I wanted her house when she was done. Even if she got married, I would get the husband out. She died and I somehow got the man out. Nana had 11 cats. They were in a car and I didn't want them to sneak out of the car when we put her stuff in it. So, we gassed them somehow. The gas put them to sleep and they fell asleep like dogs, which, in my dream, meant they lay on their sides. I went into the house and a lot of the cupboards didn't have stuff and I got tired looking, so I just decided family could come get stuff if they wanted it, because I was moving in.

4. I was in a car, riding to Rutherfordton with Todd, who was driving. His GPS was giving us directions to some Asian restaurant for which we had a menu. The GPS took us up some seriously steep hills. I was nervous about them. I remember saying it would be nearly impossible to drive up or down the road safely in the snow. The road was mostly straight, but sometimes turned sharply left. At one point, I used the steering wheel to turn the car left as we drove up, because I was nervous about the driving. The second time the road turned left, I asked Todd to turn it, because I wasn't comfortable doing it. After the last turn left, the road started to descend, but not so sharply. We looked at the shops on either side of the street, looking for our restaurant. I remember walking into a building that turned out to be a hotel, but might not have been at first. In the lobby I saw Adam Myslinski, who asked what I was doing in Rutherfrodton and why I hadn't called him. While I talked to him, Todd went to find our room. I tried to follow Todd, but he was too far away. I kept going into a hall just as another door was shutting and I kept going through those doors to find Todd. Eventually I saw Alex Lockridge and he said the same thing Adam did. When I finally caught up to Todd, he was scolding some people for being in our hotel room. He told them they should have already checked out. We left to tell the desk and I looked at Todd's papers and said he had the wrong room. He thought it said 498, but it said 428 (or 478?). We found the room, but did not go in, because some of the people he had scolded were following us. We kept walking around trying to lose them, but they kept following, like I had followed Todd. We eventually lost them after getting in an elevator that went sideways, not up and down.

Language Care and "Good" Friday

Language is important. I'm talking about which language(s) you speak or how well you speak them, although those things are important. I'm also not talking about cussing, like when your mother, a legal guardian, or a school teacher tells you to "watch your language," although that sort of language is important, too.

I am talking about vocabulary, sort of. Watching your language is wise, if this 25-year old has any wisdom. Instead of stepping into an unfamiliar pulpit and preaching against being "deaf to God's word," you might, instead, encourage people to "heed God's word." Such a subtle change in language could greatly impact how one interprets God's words on your lips. You never know who in your hearing might love someone who is deaf, but is reasonably turned off by people who constantly portray deafness as a malady. Many deaf people don't think they have a malady just because they speak a different language.

I'm not talking about being "politically correct" for the purposes of being "politically correct." I am a big fan of being "PC," but not for popularity or diplomacy, but rather because being "PC" equates to loving people with your language (most of the time).

I don't say "she or he"--or avoid gendered language all together--because it is "PC," but rather because everyone wants to be included and feel special. When I say "server" instead of waiter/waitress or flight attendant instead of steward/stewardess, I am going out of my way to include women and men. I am letting my readers know I think they are special, regardless of their genitalia.

Today, I was thinking Good Friday, seeing how it is the Friday before Easter.

I've heard people note how Good Friday isn't so good, generally followed by a sermon mentioning how Jesus' crucifixion made salvation possible, how Jesus' death satiated the bloodlust of a terrible god, the sacrifice of a loving father's son to himself (cf. naked pastor's Good Friday cartoon). After all, there is no forgiveness of sins without the shedding of blood.

Why is there no forgiveness of sins without the shedding of blood? Why are the wages of sin death? Why should these maxims make sense? Why would an omniscient God who knows for-sure the future create rules requiring the death of God's own son?

Before Jesus, God redeemed people. Without sacrifices, God redeemed people. In Micah 6, the text portrays God saying justice, love, and companionship are wanted more than the cultic rites of sacrifice and bloodshed. If God set up the sacrificial system, it was not as a rule, but as a guide. God did not need the blood of Jesus to forgive sins and redeem humankind. God is not bound, not even by God.

Today should not be remembered as a good Friday. Jesus' death is not something I look back upon and call good. Yes, good things came from the Jesus' death, but those good things do not erase the pain and suffering of Jesus. Pain and suffering are never good.

As of this morning, I will try to eliminate the phrase "Good Friday" from my language. I'll use it when appropriate, like when I have to explain to people why I don't use the phrase "Good Friday" (or when talking about someone else's theology, which is why I sometimes use the masculine pronoun referring to God).

And instead of "good," I will lean towards adjectives like "Holy" and "Black."

I hope you have a meaningful weekend and a blessed Resurrection Sunday.